


clinging to hope

by lovelyleias



Category: Deltora Quest - Emily Rodda
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 22:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/pseuds/lovelyleias
Summary: Anyone could be brave, if only they tried.





	clinging to hope

Iris was sweating despite the cold morning air that seeped through the windows. Her best dress lay upon the kitchen table, and she ran the freshly boiled kettle across the fabric. The steam crinkled her hair and warmed her face uncomfortably, but she did not break her concentration, slowly smoothing away the creases in the skirt.

A rapid knock came from the door. Iris wiped her hand against her damp brow.

“I am closed today,” she called softly, eyeing Jack, asleep in his crib. 

The knock came again. Iris sighed and set the kettle down. She would have to wake Jack shortly, and did not want to risk denying him more sleep than she had to. She went to the door and opened it a crack, prepared to tell her prospective customer to come back the next day. To her surprise, her husband’s sheepish face smiled back at her. His face, however, was drawn and anxious.

“Sorry, love,” Paulie said, as she let him in. “I left my key in the bedroom.”

“What are you doing home?” The carpenter’s workshop where Paulie worked was well across the city, and he had left for work only an hour before. She gave him a quick kiss as he entered.

Despite Iris’s efforts, Jack began to stir, and Paulie lifted him gently, placing a kiss on the dark red curls that were so similar to his own. Iris returned to her dress and waited. 

“You should not go to the meeting alone,” he said after a moment. “I am afraid for you. Something is very wrong in this city.”

Iris pressed her lips tightly together, deeply annoyed. She drew the kettle across the dress again, careful to be quick enough as to not burn the thin fabric. “Is that why you came back? To tell me I should stay home?”

“We do not know what lurks in the palace,” Paulie insisted darkly. “I do not take the rumours lightly.”

“Which is why I must go,” Iris told him sharply, although the thought of entering the palace made her knees weak. She set the kettle down. “If the king has nothing to hide, then he will not lie to me. And if he does, then we will know that we truly must be afraid.”

“How do you know the king will call upon you to speak?” Paulie asked gently.

It seemed so long since her childhood, but Iris could remember running through the alleys of the city with the other children, like packs of feral dogs. She could practically see the blacksmith’s son, just a year younger than her, his eyes wild with laughter.   
She remembered her father, whose eyes always sparkled with mirth, even when his body was ravaged by illness. She remembered the desperate hope she had carried, only months before, as the freed slaves crowded in Del. She had frantically searched those faces for her mother and her sister, who she had not seen in years. When it was clear that they had not been rescued, the overjoyed faces of strangers had made her feel sick with envy. She thought of the unhappy eyes of her neighbours; the hollowness of Paulie’s cheeks; Jacks’s alarmingly thin cries.

“He will,” Iris said with more strength than she felt. “I will not leave until he does.”

Still balancing Jack on hip, Paulie reached over and took her hand. “I did not come home to stop you, Iris. I came back because I want to go with you.” He bounced Jack on his hip, and the baby grasped at his hair. Iris softened.

“Thank you,” she gripped his hand tightly. “I did not mean to be sharp. I am afraid, too. But Deltora has been blanketed by fear for far too long. I must do what I can.”

“We will be at your side,” Paulie bounced Jack again, coaxing a giggle from his son, and a nervous smile from his wife. 

Iris kissed Paulie gratefully, and picked up her dress. It was old, and the hems on the sleeves were beginning to fray. But the fabric was warmed from the kettle. She clutched it to her heart, comforted by the heat and the familiar feeling of the garment. 

“I must change my clothes,” Iris squared her shoulders. “We should leave right after.”

She folded the dress across her arm, and tried to steady her breathing as she turned towards the bedroom. She clung to the scraps of confidence that she held. Cold fear pierced her heart, but she would not allow it to conquer her.

The king owed his people answers to their questions, and she would be sure that he paid his dues.


End file.
